


Route 50

by rhymeswithmonth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampire Harry, Vampire Louis, modern vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he dreams of staying for even longer, of burrowing deep into the cool red earth and making his final resting place under the only stars left in America. He'd never really be able to do it, obviously. He has far too many ties still rooted to the world to abandon it for long.</p><p>A modern vampire AU set in LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Route 50

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this over the course of a nine hour flight. Just romantic vampire drabble. Might revisit someday might not.

**Los Angeles, 2015, 4:19 a.m.**

 

All around sprawl the lights like a galaxy of stars fallen, broken bodies piled defeated on the ground in a pale imitation of what they once were. Above, the sky is murky black and bruise yellow in their absence. The sky is ugly without the stars. It's Harry's least favourite thing about the city. These days the sky over Los Angeles is so clogged with smog and light pollution that you have to drive for hours in any direction to see the stars. And even in the sparsely populated countryside, they do not shine as bright as they once did.

No, only in the loneliest reaches of the wild desert is the sky clear. There the stars gleam true. One can peer into the depths of the universe there, marvel at the shimmering clouds of the Milky Way, the iridescent solar ribbons of the auroras, the vivid pallets of nebulae. Harry enjoys doing just that as often as he can. He'll take the Cadillac out down Route 50 until the highway ends and beyond, her white paint turning ruddy roan from the dust. His sojourn might last one night, or many. Once he spent nearly a month out there, spending the days sheltered deep in an abandoned coyote den and feeding on the blood of mice.

Sometimes he dreams of staying for even longer, of burrowing deep into the cool red earth and making his final resting place under the only stars left in America. He'd never really be able to do it, obviously. He has far too many ties still rooted to the world to abandon it for long. Maybe someday he'll sever them or, more likely, he'll convince those ties to join him.

As it is Harry can feel the first stirrings of morning in the air. It's still a ways off, the sun safely beyond the horizon, but it's impending rise is inevitable as always. The sky is still it's dull, lusterless hue of dark browns and greens, but soon fingers of yellow and salmon will blush forth. Harry isn't so old that he's forgotten what the sunrise looks like.

He stands and stretches, boots toeing the edge of the great hunk of curved sheet metal. Arching his back to pop out his spine, stiff from staying perfectly still for hours, he sways slightly with the breeze. Inhaling one last nose-full of early summer night, he tilts his weight forward enough to fall off, the air in his ears as the ground rushes to welcome him. He lands in a pleasant puff of dust, waist high in shrubs and grasses. Setting an easy pace he trots a familiar path downhill, easily hopping the barbed fence.

He pauses once to look back at the letters rising out of the cliffside, eyes tracing the H, the O he'd used as his perch, and the L-L-Y-W-O-O-D. He allows his mouth a smile. He's grown fond of the sign over the span of his years frequenting the city. It's such a petty little monument of human vanity, yet he can't help but be wooed by the romance. The place of mortals striving for immortality, or at least the closest equivalent they know. It's paradoxically beautiful, how they attempt to gain never-ending life through the reverence and adoration of others. When in reality true immortality is a path of fear and loathing. Harry rather likes their version better.

He's left it late enough that he doesn't quite have time to make it to the big house in the glamorous suburbs on the edge of the city. Instead he cuts a path downtown, ghosting through alleys and over buildings to reach his penthouse in the heart of the city. He finds that he's grown fatigued and doesn't really feel like dealing with the doorman, and with a simple flick of the wrist Mr Greers - the chatty night watch who Harry would usually be delighted to make pleasantries with - blinks and opens the door silently. Harry beams and slips a crisp fifty into the breast pocket of the old man's vest as apology. Being under a vampire glamour even only for a moment can result in disorientation and mild headaches.

Gliding through the glass doors Harry bypasses the lift to swoop up the fire exit and up twenty flights faster than the mechanical death trap could ever go. Keeping the top floor of LA's glitziest apartment building on permanent hold costs a pretty penny but it's worth it. Harry steps through the door and onto the polished mahogany hardwood boards and exhales. He's home.

The rooms have been under his tenancy for around a century and he's managed to make them completely his. The lush interior is finished in the highest of Victorian vogue, dark wood paneling polished to gleaming, immaculate custom wallpapering. The decor is a narrative of Harry's time on earth. Bookshelves overflow with the novels and treatises he's accumulated over the decades, the walls are hung with paintings and photographs from every modern artistic phase. The lounge furniture and the finely wrought ironwork around the mantel salute the years he was enamoured with the nouveau movement, the winding vines and organic forms drawing the eye.

Harry shrugs out of his peacoat, hanging it carefully on one of the ornate brass hooks in the foyer. Toeing off his boots he slides them into their place in the elegant wooden shoe-rack he'd procured during his last stay in Japan. He treads across the space weightlessly, his socked feet making no noise against the Persian rug. Bypassing the living area he unlocks the French doors leading to the bedroom with the key he wears on a chain at his neck, drawing the heavy velvet drapes closed behind him. The windows are also completely blocked out with fabric, leaving the room blacker than the night outside. Harry doesn't bother with the lights, at home in the darkness. He navigates the floor partially through memory, partially through the minute ripple of the air bouncing off the objects around him. He's always liked to think that this is the origin of the myth about vampires transforming into bats comes from, this ability to sense objects much like the rodents' echolocation.

His coffin sits tucked in the corner of the room, in a small alcove created by an odd nook. Silken curtains drape from hooks in the walls, candles on tall stands cluster around the oblong box. Harry reaches light fingertips to whisper against the carved mahogany. He gently traces the designs, the swirling pattern of roses braided into thorny vines that boarder the entire edge. Hidden in the twisting branches are flitting sparrows, prancing deer, and human skulls. Set in the centre sits a human heart crossed with a dagger, two hands clasped below. It's a true masterpiece, the walls half a foot thick and lined with the softest black satin. Black satin that Harry intends to enjoy very soon.

It's still a bit early to turn in for the day but his energy has been pretty low lately and the prospect of sleep is alluring. He hurries to peel down his jeans and briefs, unbuttoning his paisley blouse leaving him naked to the artificial chill of the AC. The coffin will warm him up nice and quick with body heat, so he wastes no time in heaving the lid open.

He's pinned to the floor before he even has time to register the attack. There's a hand pressing his head down, an immense weight holding his body immobile. A pair of blade-like fangs nash in his face, a snarl ripping through the air. It's extremely rare to meet a creature with enough strength to take Harry on, let alone put him on the ground. This one is powerful enough to hold him completely immobile, helpless. This must be a truly fearsome being.

Harry grins elatedly against the rug, voice soft like a doves coo, "Darling!"

Louis finally stops snarling, an intake of breath signaling that he's recognized him. "Harry!" He exclaims, breath gusting in the scant space between them. His fingers tighten, nails digging into Harry's skull. "Fucking hell I almost ripped your head off. What were you thinking sneaking up on me." Never mind that this is Harry's flat, never mind that that is Harry's coffin. Never mind that Louis had broken in and invaded Harry's lair.

"Missed you." He murmurs, mouth full of carpet. The force holding his body eases up, allowing him to roll and lean up against the other man's body. The fingers in his hair spin and turn to stroking, an arm drawing him as close as can physically be.

"Missed you too baby. So much."

Harry begins to sob. He can't help it, it's like a universe is expanding in him all at once and if he held it in it would shatter his frail physical shell. He always misses Louis when they're apart, but it never quite sinks in exactly how much until they've reunited and he realizes exactly how bleak his absence had been. So he shakes in violent catharsis, wretched whimpers braying from clenched jaw. It's completely dry, as he hasn't eaten tonight, nor the night before. Now that he thinks of it he can't quite recall when exactly his last meal had been. Louis notices of course. He stops petting Harry's hair and moves to cup his face. He runs fingers over his dry cheeks, to search along the line of his lower lashes. The tacky brownish crumbs of old blood is all that comes away, turning to dust when Louis thumbs the corners of his eyes. He spits a disgusted noise.

"You've been starving yourself again haven't you. Fucking hell Styles you moron. You can't keep doing this."

"S-sorry." Harry hiccups. "I didn't mean to Lou I swear. I just forgot."

Louis groans, head dropping to knock against Harry's. He leaves it there, brow-to-brow, their noses brushing. "You forgot. You're the most ridiculous thing. Alright then get off the floor come on. And get some bloody lights on I can't see a damned thing." In an instant he's gone from Harry's embrace and the room floods with artificial light. Harry whines pitifully against the glare. He's always hated the harsh fluorescent bulbs, preferring old oil lamps or candle light if he must have any light at all. "Hush you baby and let me take a proper look at you." Louis orders, back at his side to pull him to his feet.

Harry sways slightly, obediently still while. Louis' eyes scan his naked body. "God Hazza." The other vampire breathes after a moment. He's frowning, lips pursed and brow crumpled like he's in pain. "You're right wasting away." He lays his palms on the sunken dip of Harry's stomach, smoothing up over the jagged range of his ribs, down the geometric jut of his pelvis. Harry's skin is as white as marble next to Louis', flush and glowing and vibrant with life.

"Sorry." Harry sighs again, biting his lip anxiously. He truly hadn't noticed the state of his own body, hadn't even thought about it. Even now he feels disassociated from the sickly white forms before his eyes. But he does so hate disappointing his boy.

Louis stares at him wordlessly for a long minute, eyes fixed on Harry's own. Harry takes the opportunity to drink him in, his beloved features doing more for his soul than any amount of blood in the world. He's wearing boxers and a raggedy Rolling Stones tank from a concert they'd gone to in the seventies. Harry takes in the strong curves of his legs, his lovely ankles and enduring bare feet. The fabric of the shirt droops low over his slim chest, revealing scribbled in and one small nipple. His dead heart aches with fondness.

"Come to bed." Louis finally says, voice softer in invitation. "And we'll get you sorted." He darts to flick the lights back off before tugging Harry to the coffin. Louis gets in first, wiggling around in the midnight folds until he's comfortable enough to pull Harry in on top of him. Harry settles, his tired bones clicking into place against Louis like puzzle pieces. The lid comes down over their heads, cocooning them in muffled soft nothingness.

Louis nudges under Harry's jaw, guiding his face to tuck against his neck. "Go on love." He whispers, thumbs coaxing his lips apart. "Have some of mine, I've had enough for the both of us." Harry obeys without question, allowing his fangs to slide out of his gums. He kisses the soft skin tenderly before biting, sinking his razor sharp canines into Louis' plump jugular. Warm wet, salty sweet, rich complexity. Like with missing Louis, Harry hadn't realized the depth of his hunger until it's being quenched. He moans and clings to the body below him, sucking in long greedy pulls. The blood is deliciously fresh, can't be more than a couple hours old. And there's so much. Mouthful after mouthful floods his mouth and rushes down his throat, filling his wizened stomach. Electric energy tingles through his skin, chasing away the exhaustion that's been plaguing him for weeks.

And Louis. Louis is here, he's come back to him. It's been...god it's been months. Almost a year since they parted ways, since Harry'd been gripped by the need to flee the musty stone and brick, to clear the ancient dust from his lungs, scrape off the old-world grime and run away. He'd yearned for a new horizon with more fervor than the bloodlust had ever inspired, craved different air and soil. But Louis has never stopped thinking of England as home, still held unwavering love for Europe that Harry has lost over the ages. So they'd gone their separate ways, Harry traveling all over the Americas before returning to the pacific west coast. California has been his favourite place since he discovered in in the early nineteen-hundreds, and even if nowhere is truly home without Louis, it's the next closest thing. But it's a pale imitation.

Harry presses his full weight down, wanting nothing more than to sink right down and be absorbed into Louis' skin. Their chests heave together with the motions of Harry's feeding, Louis breathing in short shallow bursts. "Y-yeah that's good babe, drink up." He rasps, and through the fragrant haze Harry hears the slight slur to his words. Feels the fingers in his hair slackening, slipping away. His instincts scream to keep sucking, to drain every last drop until the world turns to dust. But he shakes the frenzy off and extracts his fangs, laving one last lick over the wound before moving his face away.

"Lou," he murmurs, wriggling over to nose along the other vampire's hairline. Finding his temple he kisses the soft skin tenderly, feeling how the pulse has grown weak."Are you okay? Did I take too much?"

"S-s'okay." Louis pants, "You needed it more."

In the still of the box, swathed in silk and each other they may as well be buried deep in the earth. Harry's heart beats strong once more, rejuvenated with the borrowed blood. Pressed chest-to-chest he can feel the movement of Louis' body against his, their pulses perfectly synced. It's why Harry hadn't realized that there was somebody in his room, the same reason Louis hadn't heard him enter. They are bound so profoundly, their physical forms so in tune that it's impossible to differentiate the rhythm of one from the other. Fledgling from maker one and the same.

Harry should ask. There are innumerable questions to chose from, all the things deserving of his investigation. Quarries such as why Louis is here, what's he been doing, how long he's going to stay this time. He could ask after the other member of their little colony, how they're doing, where they are. He can't bring himself to lift his head. There's the tang of life on his lips, the ache of relief in his bones, and the prickle of morning behind his eyes. He gropes in the dark to find Louis' hands, tangles their fingers together and lets his senses drain away. As he slips into hibernation a squeeze to his palm bids him goodnight. Louis will still be here when the sun sets.

 

**Los Angeles, 2015, 11:02 p.m.**

 

 

The stars hang above their heads, diamond dust suspended in the deepest inks tones. A shard of white fire falls across the black, and then another. The heavens are alive tonight, meteors leaping across their vision like a dance. Blue and purple with the moon so bright it beams silver over the hills, casting shadows in the dips and crags, glistening off the shrubs.

Harry turns his face to the side and finds Louis already watching him. "See Lou?" He whispers, barely more than a breath, as if the sound of their voices would shatter the serene stillness of the desert. "Is this not the closest to heaven we'll ever get?"

The other vampire flicks his eyes briefly to the sky before they light back to Harry. "You know what? I might actually agree with you."

 


End file.
